


Half the World Away

by alekszova



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-10-17 02:49:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20613719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alekszova/pseuds/alekszova
Summary: DBH Rarepairs Week: Day 4 - Red String of FateSimon tells Connor stories of what their relationship might be like in other alternate universes.





	Half the World Away

[  **ONE ** ]

“Do you believe in fate?”

It’s not the question Connor was expecting.

He turns away from the dresser, leaning against it as he undoes the buttons on his shirt. Simon looks back at him from the bed, legs drawn up to his chest, head tilted to the side. Watching him like he always does. Simon looks upset, almost, but that’s something they both seem to have in common. Sadness etched into their features that promises to never go away. It doesn’t matter how much time has passed since the revolution, it’s still there. The grief. The mourning. The violence that existed and still exists because it doesn’t matter what laws people make, there is always room for more hatred.

“What do you mean?” he asks, avoiding the question. Connor doesn’t always like it when he says things like this to him. Things that he doesn’t know how to answer. Not because he doesn’t know what answer Simon wants—just that he doesn’t know what to  _ believe. _

“Do you think we were always meant to be together?”

Connor smiles, softly, pulling his shirt off, setting it in the basket with the rest of the laundry.

He doesn’t know how to answer that, either.

He doesn’t know if he believes in soulmates, if that’s the question. He doesn’t believe that only one person can ever truly be compatible with another. It isn’t a one and one exchange. There is more to it than that.

“I think we’d always be in each other’s lives,” Connor says, carefully. “I think I was always going to meet you somehow.”

“Somehow,” Simon repeats, smiling a little. “Just maybe not in a positive way.”

He nods, “If I’d made other decisions, if I didn’t deviate—”

“You probably would’ve killed me yourself.”

Connor lets out a broken sigh, because he doesn’t want to think about it. He doesn’t like to think about his time as a machine. He doesn’t like to think of how it could have all ended so terribly. He doesn’t want to think about Simon dead. He doesn’t want to think about him killing people.

Connor is doing his best to make up for what he was programmed to do, but sometimes it isn’t enough.

“Simon?”

“Hm?”

He moves across the room, sitting down on the bed beside him, a hand on his cheek, another resting on his arm, tugging it away from where he keeps himself locked in a tiny ball. Simon lets go, letting Connor into his personal space, letting Connor kiss him. He kisses back, but it’s soft, barely there.

He doesn’t know what upset him. If it’s just the past or something new or some combination of the two. There are so many terrible, awful things they’ve endured. Together. Apart. It's impossible to pin it down. 

“I love you,” he says quietly, hoping the words are enough to reassure Simon that it doesn’t matter whether or not they are destined to be together, they are still here, right now, in love. Looking towards a future. A ring on their finger signifying their promise to each other.

Together forever.

“I love you, too,” he whispers. “I just… I think about it. Us.”

“Us?” Connor echoes.

“Other versions of us. If we’d meet.”

“Okay,” he says quietly. “Tell me about them.”

Simon laughs a little, pulling away, “I don’t know—”

“Come on,” Connor replies, standing up .”Tell me. How do we meet in another world?”

“Be more specific.”

“Well—” he pauses in his movement back to the dresser. “What if we aren’t androids? How would we meet then?”

“Oh,” Simon says it with a sigh. “If we aren’t androids—”

If they aren’t androids, it doesn’t mean they have to be human, but it is the first thing he jumps to. Human versions of him and Connor. He decides androids don’t exist at all. Kamski never created them, and with that, they are just two lonesome human beings whose paths cross on a stormy night.

_ “A stormy night?” _

_ "You like the rain.” _

_ “I do. Okay, sorry, Si. Continue.” _

Simon works at a twenty-four-hour bookstore. The only one in the entirety of the city. Old wooden shelves stacked full. Handmade signs hanging from the ceiling. Blue and purple glitter glue making up the letters of the children’s section, bright gold for the young adult, deep red for nonfiction. Sometimes, when the sun is setting just above the tops of the buildings across the street, it streams in just enough to make the glitter shine brightly. Only for a moment before it’s gone again.

But it’s night when Connor shows up. A tired detective who hasn’t succumbed to the addiction of coffee like the others in his station and preferring tea.

_ “I’m still a detective in this other world?” _

_ “Yes. You want me to change it?” _

_ “No. Go on.” _

It’s a late night, but Connor needs to pass time. Waste it until some tests are done at the station. Coming here to toss it away, going from aisle to aisle in the nearly deserted store. There are a few regulars who come at night, night owls and nocturnal creatures. Maybe even a few that suffer from bad dreams, coming here to chase them away with a fictional world where characters can conquer their demons.

Connor doesn’t buy a book that night. Simon barely even glances up to take note of him. He leaves, rushing back to work just as he’s started to pluck a book from its place on the shelves, leaving it half pulled out on his quick exit.

_ “Do we meet again?” _

_ “Of course.” _

Of course they do, because Connor comes back again and again. Nights where the only time he gets a little bit of a free moment. Reading the spines of books, trailing fingers across them. Taking a few out, skipping through the pages, placing them back again. Connor never buys anything, but he’s in the store often. Busying himself with words.

He comes frequently enough that Simon starts to recognize him. A stranger that never purchases but will spend an hour inside the confines of the shop.

_ “Do we ever talk?” _

_ “Of course.” _

Their first conversation is an exchange of playful teasing. Simon reshelving books, fixing the ones that have been put in the wrong places by customers who couldn’t care less. The store is tiny, small enough for a low number of employees. And he finds himself in the section that Connor’s at, a quiet  _ excuse me  _ as he puts a book back where it belongs in the middle of all the other historical fiction.

And then it turns. Simon poking fun at how Connor’s never bought a single thing. His one returning patron that’s never become a true customer. He makes Connor smile, for the first time, with that. He’s sure it’s just to be nice, to placate him, but the smile is still nice to see. He always looks so serious, so tired, so sad.

_ “You’re pulling from reality a bit much here, Si.” _

_ “Maybe you should stop working so hard then, Con.” _

_ “Maybe. Do you ask me out?” _

_ “No. You ask me out.” _

_ “I do?” _

_ “Not on purpose.” _

Connor comes back again, for a different reason. A book finally bought, but only to steal time at the register, mumbling about how he never gets time off work. How he wishes he could go on a date, someday. How he’s lonely.

_ “Am I so obvious in my flirting?” _

_ “You don’t mean to be. It was just comments.” _

_ “I treat you like a bartender, spilling all my secrets.” _

_ “Yes. You do.” _

But he’s flattered because Connor is beautiful in a messy way. Imperfect but perfect. Flawed but flawless. Everything existing on the surface but clamped down, quieted. A pull between them. He’s an intriguing being, a walking contradiction.

But they do go on a date. Simon offering himself as someone who can fill that empty space in Connor’s life. The way Connor reacts, when he suggests it, is embarrassing. Embarrassing for the both of them, as they realize what he’d been saying wasn’t meant to be taken the way of a romantic offer, just a statement of fact.

But they go out for tea, neither one of them really liking coffee. Earl gray and chamomile. Stumbling along a conversation of basics.  _ Family?  _ None.  _ Job?  _ Detective, bookstore employee.  _ Second date?  _ Absolutely.

_ “And a third?” _

_ “And a fourth.” _

_ “So we fall in love?” _

_ “Of course we do.” _

Of course they do, because Simon can’t imagine living a life where he isn’t in love with Connor. Being able to hold him like he is now, in reality, an arm wrapped around his waist, tracing the shape of his jaw, tugging on his pajamas, slipping them over his head even though he’s only put them on a few minutes ago. The human versions of them fall in love just like they did. Swiftly, without even realizing it.

  
  


[  **TWO** ]

He jolts awake, eyes flying open, his heart racing, the fear still coursing through him, never letting go. It doesn’t ease up until he feels Simon hold onto him a little tighter, grounding him in reality versus the dream.

_ Nightmare _ .

It was a nightmare.

All he remembers is blue on his hands. Swimming in an ocean of Thirium.

“Connor.”

“I—” he chokes on his words, not knowing what to say. He can’t think. He can’t put the syllables together. He’s terrified of it. Terrified of everything. So much gore everywhere. He has his face pressed against Simon’s chest, turning his head so he can listen to muffled, almost silent inner workings of his parts. Something mechanical to comfort him. The rise and fall of his chest beneath him. Breathing that neither of them require but an action that helps, a movement that provides as much comfort to them as it might to a human not seeing such a statue-still android. “T-Tell me.”

“Connor?”

“About us,” he whispers. “Tell me about another us. How we meet.”

He needs the comfort of a story, of this other version of them being happy, getting together. He needs to think about something other than all of these images in his head.

“Okay,” Simon says quietly. “Okay.”

They aren’t androids and they aren’t human. They’re something else.

_ “Superheroes.” _

_ “Oh. What are our powers?” _

Simon doesn’t know yet. He is putting this tale together based solely off of impulsive decisions. He doesn’t know how to link them together, he doesn’t know which abilities to give them. But he decides, suddenly, that he can heal. Not himself, but others. It’s a bright blue glow, washing over a body, stitching their wounds back together.

And that's how they meet. Connor badly wounded in a fight against his own alien species trying to wipe out the human race. Bruised and torn apart, but Simon saves him. Pieces him back together again. 

_ "And my powers?" _

_ "Water." _

_ "Water?" _

Yes, water. Bending and controlling. Freezing and liquifying the ice back again. Connor and Simon aren't teammates, but Simon is there by his side, helping him try to fix the wreckage of the alien's presence. Connor pulled over to Simon's little team of fire users and brute strength, though the others were apprehensive in accepting one of their enemies into their group. But they do, and Connor helps to defeat the aliens, ridding the city of its invaders and doing what they can to put it back together again. 

_ "Simon…" _

_ "Yeah?" _

_ "What happens, when it's all over? When the aliens are gone? What happens to me?" _

It's a fear the both of them had. Connor's usage to their team no longer necessary but still wanted. Simon would let him go, if it's what he really wanted. But he doesn't want Connor to go.

_ "Kiss me. No—I meant in the story. Kiss me." _

So Simon does (in both reality and the story, which makes Connor laugh and makes Simon smile at the sound of it). The day before Connor is supposed to clear out his things and never return, Simon stops him and kisses him. It's an uncanny resemblance to their real life. Simon holding onto him, not telling him to stay with his words but urging him to not leave with a tentative kiss pressed against his lips.

And Connor kisses him back. Holds onto him tight. A little breath shared between them as they part, turning into a small laugh and a quiet understanding. 

_ "I stay?" _

_ "Yes." _

And Connor doesn't leave because he is a part of their group now. Not just with Simon but with the others, too. North's best friend, Josh's confidant, Markus' shield. He's there with them forever. He belongs with them.

_ "Do you really believe that? After everything?" _

_ "Absolutely." _

_ "You're blinded by love." _

_ "I'm okay with that." _

Connor laughs, though it's infused with sadness, and Simon's embrace tightens. It's amazing, really, that they can be married for two years, that they could be in love for five and Connor still questions his place here beside him.

  
  


[  **THREE** ]

Simon isn’t here with him. Connor left, with Markus, his personal bodyguard for a short trip out of Detroit. Simon could’ve come, but he opted to stay home. He would prefer to keep watch over Jericho’s home base than be here in Seattle. It doesn’t bother him. It makes Connor happy, even. Knowing that he’s safer there than here, where people are less warmed up to the idea of deviants and androids. It isn’t as if everyone in Detroit accepts them, but at least there is some semblance of balance and peace there. Not as much fear as walking the streets of Seattle.

But still. When he gets the chance, sneaking away in the hotel room to the bathroom, he calls Simon, door closed behind him, legs drawn up to his chest.

“It’s late,” Simon says quietly.

“I miss you.”

There’s a pause. Long enough for Connor to picture the smile that would be on his face. “I miss you, too. You could ditch Markus, you know. He can take care of himself.”

“I’m aware,” he says. He isn’t entirely here because Markus wants him here. It’s a decision Connor and North came to together. Wanting to protect him. Keep him alive. Markus is his best friend. He would hate himself if something happened and he wasn’t here to stop it. “Can you tell me one of your stories?”

“They’re not stories,” Simon replies. “You make them sound like fairy tales.”

“Sometimes life with you feels that way.”

“Don’t be cheesy.”

He smiles, biting back a laugh just to make sure the hotel room stays silent. He doesn’t want to risk waking Markus. He knows he isn’t the only one plagued with nightmares. He knows he isn’t the only one that sleep and rest seem like precious few hours. He can’t interrupt that. Not even with something as tiny as a laugh.

“Tell me,” Connor says quietly. “Please.”

“Okay.”

He decides—

This one will be a fairy tale.

Just like them.

Connor is an elf—highly trained and specialized to fight off the orcs. But he’s an outcast. Betrayed the kingdom when he saved a human and brought them into the confines of the elven kingdom. Humans aren’t supposed to step foot inside. Hundreds of years ago humans waged war on their kind, tried to bottle up their magic and steal it for themselves.

_ “I broke the law for a human?” _

_ “Yes.” _

_ “Was it you?” _

_ “No.” _

It wasn’t him. Simon decides it was Gavin, although his impact is little in the story, just something that snowballs into more. Connor is caught, faced with the decision to remain in custody inside of the elven prison for two hundred years to pay for his crime.

_ “And do I?” _

_ “No. You don’t.” _

He was trying to help a human that may not have deserved it, but two hundred years seems like a heavy price to pay to help someone. He is exiled, marked by the kingdom to make sure nobody mistakes him for an elf worthy of their superior status.

_ “What did they do?” _

_ “It’s gruesome.” _

The tips of his ears are no longer pointed. His magic was stolen away. He was effectively a human, forced outside of the kingdom walls and shoved into the reality of the other worlds. Mixed with dwarves and giants and humans walking around every city. The diversity an astounding contrast to the elven kingdom, where he’d only ever seen the orcs that fought him.

_ “Simon?” _

_ “What?” _

_ “Where do you come in?” _

_ “Be patient.” _

Connor meets an old man that helps him—

_ “Hank?” _

_ “Yes. Stop interrupting.” _

_ “I’m sorry, Si. I love you.” _

Hank is human, but he helps Connor adjust to a life within the city. There are other elves, there. Other people that have been exiled for a variety of reasons. Some having relationships with humans secretly. Bastard children that have ruined their worth to their own people. They all have their ears like Connor’s—pointed ends cut off, a sharp diagonal left behind. 

And he meets Simon there, with the other elves. 

_ “And we fall in love?” _

_ “Yes. We do. Be patient.” _

They fall in love, but it is a slow process. The elven rules are still ingrained into Connor’s life. Dictating his every emotion and action, his opinions and his relationships. It isn’t easy, but it happens—the learning and unlearning.

_ “But you’re there with me.” _

_ “Yes.” _

_ “And you make it easier.” _

_ “Do I?” _

_ “You make everything a little easier.” _

Simon doesn’t know how to respond to that. He never does. He wishes Connor were here, so he could hold him, so he could tell him he loves him, so he could threaten to never let him go. He misses him. A deep craving that resides on the surface at all times. There isn’t a single moment where he forgets that Connor won’t be here. The emptiness in the apartment is so cruel and so cold that he couldn’t hope to forget that he’s gone and for a moment of brief reprieve. 

“Come home soon, Con.”

“I will. I promise.”

  
  


[  **FOUR** ]

Connor loves these little stories Simon tells him. He calls him every night while he’s gone. Listens to stories of knights in shining armor and princes running from dragons. He listens to Simon tell him different variations of them as humans in modern day, finding all of the ways they could meet. Pen pals and childhood friends and going to the same college together. 

The stories come to a brief pause when he finally comes home. He’s distracted by other things when he returns. Making up for the lost time. Kissing Simon and prying his clothes off and spending too many days in bed together, never enough time in between to listen to a new story that doesn’t get quickly cut off again.

But they fall back into a rhythm again. Nights when neither of them can fall asleep or one of them is struggling to distract themselves from the memories of dead androids. Simon fills the space with a story, whispering about wizards and witches or ghosts and angels. 

Tonight is different, though. Connor gets home late. Slips into bed in the darkness, getting close to Simon’s chest, closing his eyes and trying to fall asleep. He doesn’t necessarily need the full eight hours that humans might. He can operate off a small few, but he is affected the same way a human would when they only get a few hours in a few days. He can’t keep his eyes open, his processing is slower. Little things that affect him internally, programmed in a way to act more human-like. Just like the rise and fall of his chest, the freckles and moles on his skin. All of the little things to make him seem less android, less strange and wrong to look at.

“You okay?”

“Tough case,” he whispers. “I thought you were asleep. Did I wake you?”

“No,” Simon replies. “It’s hard to sleep, sometimes, when you’re gone.”

Connor nods, but he knows he is the lucky one in this relationship. When he’s away, when he’s busy, even when he needs to sleep for a few hours at the station so his body can function more properly, he is never really away from Simon for long. Not until his last trip with Markus, when he felt the absence of Simon everywhere he went. There was no promise that Simon was just a few miles away, just a drive across the city. That it would take so little to get to him. Instead, they were on the other side of the country and when they slept in hotels and Connor had his own bed he had to hold onto a pillow as tight as possible so as not to feel the loss beside him.

But Simon—

How many nights, how many days does he go without seeing Connor? Time not spent filled with work and cases and interrogating suspects and testifying in trials? Reviewing evidence and inspecting photographs and alibis?

It’s not like he never misses him during those moments, but he has work to busy him. Throws himself in it wholeheartedly so as not to think about Simon being away from him.

“I missed you,” he whispers back.

“Today?”

He nods, “It would’ve been easier if you were there.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

No, not at all. He doesn’t want to think about it any more than he already has. The deaths of so many androids. Destroyed to the point where they can’t even be repaired, can’t even have a single memory recovered. Dead. Completely, utterly. 

“Tell me a story,” he says quietly. “Please.”

Simon’s hand moves towards him, pushing his hair back, caressing his cheek, pressing a kiss against his forehead. He lets Simon move him, cradling his body closer, gently, knowing that it’s what he needs. 

Simon doesn’t know what to say. He thinks his imagination is running low. Stories he’s heard and bits and pieces he’s taken and rearranged to fit them. Songs that he could spin alternate lives from. But he knows tonight is not a night he can risk something upsetting. Not like the elven war with the exiling or the ghost stories where one of them is dead, always lingering and waiting for the other, reuniting in the afterlife. He can’t risk superhero stories where one of them is unwanted or injured.

So he decides they work at rival toy stores in some fantasy world. Connor spending his nights carefully carving rattles and building rocking horses and cribs and Simon works on the other side of the street—using magic to make wonderful things. Snowglobes that don’t need to be shaken up. Cotton candy that makes people levitate a few inches off the ground.

Their rivalry isn’t born from anything that would make sense. No desire to make more money than the other and put them out of business. No want to steal their customers. Their products are different enough that one being gone wouldn’t necessarily better them. Simon only starts it because he thinks Connor is cute.

_ “Terrible reason.” _

_ “Sshhh...” _

Simon has been in love before, but he isn’t good at it. He doesn’t know the proper ways to ask someone out, and so he builds wonderful displays of floating confetti outside of the store doors, trying to get his attention, trying to get Connor to act first.

_ “And did I?” _

_ “No.” _

_ “No?” _

No, he didn’t. Because the display did nothing except fuel a fight between them somehow. One always trying to better the other until it became such a grand thing it was like a mini festival between their two stores every day.

_ “And what happened?” _

_ “You’re an idiot, that’s what happened.” _

_ “Simon!" _

_ "I'm sorry. It's true though." _

Something happened. In the middle of the night, Connor’s display falls apart. Breaking into a hundred pieces on the cobblestone path and it wakes Simon from his sleep, coming downstairs to find Connor sitting alongside it, trying to piece it back together again, with tears streaming down his face. And when he sees Simon, they argue. In hushed whispers, trying to keep things quiet for the other families tucked away in their beds that night. That Simon must have sabotaged him, that even if he didn’t, it was all his fault that any of this was happening to begin with. That if he hadn’t started the fight than it wouldn’t have come to this.

_ “I blamed you.” _

_ “Yes.” _

_ “And you let me?” _

_ “No.” _

He fought back, but Connor wasn’t listening to him.

_ “So you were a cliche, right? You kissed me to shut me up?” _

_ “I did.” _

_ “Did it work?” _

_ “Yes.” _

_ “Because I’m an idiot? Don’t answer that. And stop laughing.” _

They kissed and they kissed and Connor kept saying that it didn’t mean anything because they were still enemies but when Simon smiled, Connor smiled back and kissed him again and again and they both knew that it was the end of their rivalry, even before they parted ways and Simon helped him put his display back together again.

And the weeks started to pass by, them working together to make displays that would merge together, no beginning and ending between them. Months going by as they spent more and more time together, falling in love fast. It wasn’t long before they moved in together, not long after that they adopted one of the stray dogs in the city. But it took them a long time before they finally got married, even longer before their shops merged into one. Magic intertwined with the things Connor was making, but never tainting them, never taking them away from what Connor crafted with his own hands. Small things—like making the delicate flowers painted on a chair change with the seasons or stars embroidered on blankets lighting up at night, faint but a comforting glow.

_ “And we live happily ever after.” _

_ “Yes.” _

_ “It’s not realistic, Si.” _

_ “I don’t care. We live happily ever after.” _

He reaches towards him, tracing the shape of his nose, kissing his forehead again. He can feel Connor holding onto him a little tighter, a little desperate. Simon knows he can’t fix everything with one little story. He knows it probably didn’t help very much, but it’s enough for Connor’s eyes to finally close, for him to relax against him, for the promise of sleep to come soon. But he stays awake, holding onto him, making up as many little anecdotes and stories to help Connor feel comforted and safe as he slips off to sleep.

  
  


[  **FIVE ** ]

Connor likes the rain, but Simon hates it. The thunder and the lightning. Bright flashes and loud booms that unsettle him. In the five years they've been together the fear of storms hasn't decreased. Simon can know everything there is to know about a storm and the science behind it, the likelihood of their safety, doesn't matter. He still curls up against Connor's chest, sometimes asking to hide away somewhere safer.

In the first year of their relationship, during the first storm on a night they spent together, Simon disappeared from the bed in the middle of the night and Connor found him underneath it, blanket pulled around him, arm as his pillow, laying with his eyes focused solely on the metal legs of the bed.

Connor had crawled under there with him, pulling him close, keeping him safe.

It's like that tonight. The two sitting in the living room, trying to watch a movie to distract from the noise when a loud crack across the sky above them coincides with the sudden darkness of the apartment. The television flickering off, the quiet sound of the room turning dark. Plunging them into black.

Connor wraps an arm around his waist, forcing Simon to lean against him instead of running away like he knows he wants to. He's tense. Limbs rigid and stiff. Ready to flee.

"It's okay. It'll be back soon."

Simon nods in agreement, but he still stays like this. In Connor's lap, trying to get up and run. They have no lights they can turn on. Nothing battery operated. No candles. They should've stocked up on something like that, just in case. A lantern or something. Anything.

"Don't let me go."

"I won't," Connor whispers, pressing a kiss to the side of his head. "I got you."

“Always?”

He smiles, soft and sad and tormented as he places a kiss against the side of his head, “Always.”

Always. Even before now. Simon likes to think that their souls are connected. Not just across his fictional universes but in their own. Before now. Before they were androids. Back when the world didn’t know of such a thing as androids or computers at all. Back further and further when their souls hopped from human bodies. When Connor might’ve been the son of an aristocrat and Simon might’ve been someone he met then. At fancy parties where they’d have to hide away in the dark corners of the halls to steal moments away together. When they’d make excuses again and again to see each other.

Or maybe, when Connor could’ve lived a life as an outlaw. A cowboy. With one of those hats always on his head, pulled down to hide his face like he often does with the hoods on his sweatshirts. And he’d hold Simon’s hands and press gentle kisses against his fingertips before leaving him alone at the place they live in the woods together, away from the prying eyes of other people.

Maybe even just ten years ago. When they could’ve had a life up until they were grumpy old men. A modern love story of the two as humans again. Simon is fond of that one. The world is kinder to a relationship like theirs in more recent times. It makes him feel a bit more hopeful at the concept of them being together.

Because he knows for every fantasy he has of their souls and their journey being interconnected, there is always going to be one where they deny themselves of each other. Because of their own shame or society's expectations. Forcing each other apart.

They are lucky, now. They’re married. They’ll adopt kids, once they move into a proper home to raise them in. Not yet, but eventually. They have all the time in the world.

And Connor has him.

Always. Forever.


End file.
